An analysis paper I wrote for my environmental writing class, using Linda Bergkvist’s gorgeous work as the subject.
Latest Entries »
“He did not know why he was hugging the earth, why he could not kiss it enough, why he longed to kiss it all… He kissed it again and again, drenching it with his tears, vowing to love it always, always. ‘Water the earth with your tears,’ a voice rang out in his soul… he felt clearly , almost physically, something real and indestructible, like the vault of the sky over his head, entering his soul. Something, a kind of idea, had taken over his soul forever and ever. He was a weak youth when he fell to the ground and he rose a strong and determined fighter.”
- Dostoevsky
I feel like the past few days have been just full of turbulent waves of emotion. I feel like I’ve never hated anyone so much, and never have financial issues ever made me feel so helpless, so one person standing against something inconquerable. I took a cold shower earlier today and just screamed and cried until the water didn’t feel chilly any longer and I could think with a semblance of sensibility.
There’s so much more I want to write in this entry, some of it not even related to what is above. I’ve rewritten paragraphs for the past hour and I can’t bring myself to post any of them. Some things are better left in the mind where eventually they’ll pass and be no more than distant thoughts. If I put them down here, you can read them, I can read them, and it affects things.
Maybe the strings break, or maybe our ships sink, or maybe we’re grass—our roots so interdependent that no one is dead as long as someone is still alive. We don’t suffer from a shortage of metaphors, is what I mean. But you have to be careful which metaphor you choose, because it matters. If you choose the strings, then you’re imagining a world in which you can become irreparably broken. If you choose the grass, you’re saying that we are all infinitely interconnected, that we can use these root systems not only to understand one another but to become one another. The metaphors have implications.
-Paper Towns, John Green
Last month, a bear cub was euthanized for it’s friendly affability with humans it met, after receiving food from them for quite awhile.
Of course, more effort could have been put towards placing said cub on a reserve, or even in educating the public about keeping trashcans securely covered, and about scaring away wildlife and not giving it a reason to become more relaxed around humans. Despite the fact that humans are the one intruding on the bears environment, the animal is always the one to pay.
Some people have asked if the public’s reaction would have been the same if said bear had injured a child, or if it had been a less liked animal. My own reaction would not have been different. It was our actions as humans that frustrate me so. As the “superior species” should we not be able to avoid attracting such situations, or at least be able to invent less cruel resolutions of such issues?
Allia Wilson:
There is an undescribable amount of rage inside of me right now. The pit of my stomach is turning in anger. Are you kidding me?! You kill a bear to resolve the fault of humans. I’m sorry, but in my mind that does not make sense. They say that they had warned humans not to feed the bear as the bear would associate cars with food, therefore resulting in injury or death for the bear, then they completely contradict themselves by doing the job anyway. It sickens me to think that out of all the options, such as natural reserve or a zoo, they choose to take it’s life. We as humans are at fault. Aside from giving a wild animal food at such a young age before it can learn to fend for itself and catch food itself, we go ahead and place a great long slab of cement and tar right through THEIR LAND. Nature was here long before us. But no. Let’s just kill the bear, because it’s not humans fault that it didn’t know better.
Read more here.
Saw Beady Eye in concert after winning two tickets to see them perform live for the David Letterman Show. I was able to get VIP seats, shake Gem Archer’s hand, and get a photo with Liam.
Before graduation with Friends.
My awards on display at afterparty.
And being silly string’d by friends and family..
I’m sitting across from you, both of us pen in hand writing down algebraic steps posted on a white board, the faded marker having made barely legible writing. The only noise is the scratching of the pencils and the occasional cough.
I glance over at you, hating your angelic face, the serenity in your relaxed facial muscles, and the supposed warmth of your brown eyes. They don’t know you like I do, they know the girl you show them. The shy “girl next door” kind of girl. The one they’re all dying to bring home to mom.
They don’t know you like I do.
I glance back at my paper and the characters of my writing go out of focus, my mind seething.
They don’t know about the guys you screw, the ones you let feel you up in the dirty back staircases. They don’t know about the dirty groping hands you let touch you, the marks you hide under your hair. The guys that love you, they have no idea. No idea about the staircases, they believe you when you claim to love them. They would never suspect, you are so talented at masterminding it. The hidden moments, the hidden screws.
But you tell me.
And I envision it backfiring on you. I see the news blaring, a picture of your perfect face next to the image of a bloated body, finally found after days of searching. I hear everyone wondering how such a thing could happen to such a lovely girl.
I resent you. How easily you manipulate those around you into fawning over you, into gaining their devotion and adoration. How coyly you sneak around letting hands touch you, only the ones that don’t love you. I imagine you smirking in triumph, knowing you’ve been the best player. Who could be better?
I clear my throat, and stand up, the chair grating across the tiled floor. I walk to the desk of the instructor and quickly have permission to leave. I take a look back across the room, meeting the eyes of my friend, her gaze curious. Turning away, I walk out of the room.
Tomorrow we will laugh, and you will tell me about how happy those secret times make you feel. About how when you don’t, you feel worthless. And then I will pity you. I will pity your conniving, your need to control.
Tell me, best friend, why you impart with me the knowledge of your days. Why you tell me how you feel. Do you know how I feel? Do you know of my resent, of my pity? No.
I am the best player.
So about six months ago my grandmother adopted a spaniel mix from a very large popular animal shelter about two hours from my house, out of one of their adoption vans. When I visited a couple weeks later the dog attempted to attack me when I sat down on their couch, and bit my mother in the process of trying to get towards me.
We called the shelter quite a few times and finally got a response about two months ago. We explained the situation and they told us to drive there for them to take the dog back, and so my mother and my grandmother went yesterday, I had work.
When I get back from work my mother tells me they refused to take the dog. Here’s the story:
The dog was fine with the woman who met them at the door, and was fine with the two dog behaviorists re-evaluating him until they tried to restrain him on a walk, where he got snarly. Then a kid went by on a skateboard and he flipped out. I had -warned- them that he was aggressive towards minors. He’s also territorial and possessive-aggressive.
One of the staff there told my mother “Your daughter will just have to get used to the fact that he doesn’t like her and visit her grandmother anyway.” It’s not a matter of me GETTING OVER IT. The dog is almost impossible to restrain when I, my brother, or any younger child comes around. It tried attacking her neighbors child, luckily it was leashed and the kid was far enough away that all it did was scare him.
They said our options were to privately place him or employ a behaviorist. We don’t have the money for a behaviorist, we spent all our money driving back to the shelter to get rid of him.
They refused to take him back, saying he was dangerous. I just called and left a long and angry message on their answering machine, telling them we don’t have the money for a behaviorist, it’s irresponsible to privately place a dog that has extreme aggression issues, not to mention anyone willing to take him most likely wouldn’t have the experience to handle such a dog. I also ranted to them about how irresponsible they were to not thoroughly evaluate the dog before adopting it out, and how now my grandmother’s liable for an aggressive dog and could lose everything if it were to bite someone besides family.
My mother’s called a few shelters, but none have been willing to take him because of the aggression. My next step if they still refuse to take him back is to talk to the police in charge of animal control here, and while legally they can’t take in dogs unless they’re strays he can tell me if I’m legally within my rights to have my grandmother demand they take the dog back.
Just now:
I went to the local dog warden today to ask if the shelter was under any legal compulsions to take an aggressive dog back.
What I got was a 7 ft tall dog warden telling me it was all my fault that my grandmother was still in possession of an aggressive dog, and if I wanted to fix it all I need do was hold the dog in the air by it’s collar until it gets close to passing out while yelling at it, and then it won’t try to bite me anymore!
I told him that some people, including myself, would argue that such a thing is unethical and cruel. He told me that when I go to college that I should have a bonfire and burn all my dog behaviorism books.
He back up his experience by telling me about how his Doberman growled at him when he told it to get off the couch one day. He brought it outside and told it to sit in the snow, and it didn’t. So he told it to again and it lunged for his throat. So he picked it up using the leash and hung it by it’s collar until it almost passed out and was gasping and choking, and then told it to sit again. It sat! Dog friendly again!
I wanted to argue that if his punishment-based training worked as well as he was claiming then his dog would never have tried to kill him in the first place. But I didn’t feel like being arrested for talking back to someone who is legally also a cop, so I nodded until he stopped talking, and thanked him for his time before walking out.
Of course his Doberman didn’t attack him after he hung it in the air by it’s collar, it’s called oxygen asphyxiation.
I was basically shaking by how intimidating this guy was, which is why I only argued against him a few times. He told me to bring the dog down to the shelter and he’d choke it for me, if I wasn’t strong enough to hold it in the air by it’s leash. I told him I’d rather bring it to one of the training centers that he “swore by,” as my grandmother needs to learn to control it himself. He argued that I’m here now, and I can do it for her. Completely missed my point.
I just feel completely.. angered. I came in asking for legal information and was taught how to strangle a dog.
Went hiking with Kira and brought my journal and camera with me. Had to get away for a few hours and this did it perfectly.
